


Father’s Day

by BeezandBitches



Series: Four Troublemakers [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Crowley and Aziraphale are their dads by proxy, I was gonna put this in my oneshot collection but it got long, Light Family Angst, Post-Armageddon, War misses her dads, ineffable fathers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-10-01 22:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20420978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeezandBitches/pseuds/BeezandBitches
Summary: The first Father’s Day after Armageddon’t is a hard one to deal with. Especially for the Four Horsepeople.





	Father’s Day

**Author's Note:**

> No one asked for this but i wanted it. Enjoy and leave some love!

Father’s Day wasn’t an easy day for the Riders of the Apocalypse. Mostly because they had actually chose to celebrate it, in a way. 

You see, normally, supernatural beings didn’t  _ have  _ fathers. They didn’t have mothers either, unless you counted The Almighty as mother to all, but generally speaking you were just forced into existence, fully grown and ready to dick around. But, thanks to a complicated series of events involving sword ownership-passing and an angel and demon who couldn’t possibly have made any stranger impacts on history at large, the Four Horsepeople had Aziraphale, Guardian of The Eastern Gate, and Crowley, Serpent of Eden, to call “fathers”.

Now, the four knew them. Of course they had. There was only six, later seven with Pollution, supernatural entities wandering the Earth for 6,000 years, and two of them tended to meet up regularly every few decades. So, it was very common to run into each other, mostly in the beginning. The world was small then, word traveled slow but chaos spread like fire on dry wood. Aziraphale would usually end up finding War or Famine or Pestilence in the midst of doing their jobs and always would ask how they were doing. Crowley, on the other hand, would always meet them during a drink, usually on accident. But, he’d always open a spot for them to sit. It was nice to be around them. They understood each other. Plus, the angel and demon would always listen if the troublemakers had some kind of gripe to spill or needed a shoulder to cry on. It was like what fathers were meant to do.

Sometimes they’d join their fathers for an afternoon, a few days, once Famine had even tagged along with Aziraphale for a year. It was more to try and annoy him, but deep down Famine did enjoy the time he spent with him. Even if it did involve a lot of stopping to snack on local cuisine. But hey, he learned how to make Babylonian lamb because of it. Helped out when Pestilence was trying to brainstorm ideas for a livestock-based disease. Trichinosis! What a bastard of a virus.

But, with time and humanity rapidly growing, the four saw less and less of both of their fathers. Pollution had only met them a few times, one of which being the Apocalypse. It wasn’t exactly the best family reunion.

But, afterwards with time trying to heal the wounds of defeat, the four were only greeted with a harsh reminder when Father’s Day rolled around.

Up until then, they had been sending gifts to both Aziraphale and Crowley every year, as a joint effort from them all. Usually, they’d take turns picking the gifts out and sending it their way. They knew the two had permanent residencies on Earth, so it wasn’t hard to look them up in a phone book. 

But now, almost a full year since the failed Armageddon, the four of them were debating if they should even send anything anymore.

They sat in their apartment at the kitchen table, square and plain with a red cloth draping down the middle for color. Each chair was even color coordinated. They were uncomfortably quiet as they ate dinner one June evening.

“So.. Should we talk about the elephant in the room?” War broke the silence as she twirled her fork around lazily in her pasta.

“It's a rhino.” Pollution said flatly, picking up the animal themed salt shaker from the table and pouring some onto their meal. War rolled her eyes, they knew what she meant.

“She’s talking about Father’s Day.” Famine said as he took a bite of iceberg lettuce from his salad. The only lettuce that did absolutely nothing for you. “And no, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Raven-“ War said, only to be cut off by the sound of his fork hitting the table.

“Look, Carm. We shouldn’t even have to discuss it. We don’t  _ have  _ fathers.” He said. He wasn’t totally wrong, but he wasn’t totally right either. “We chose to take part in a dumb human holiday and look where it got us.”

“You know it’s more than that.” She said. “It’s  _ always _ been more than that.”

“It’s not like they care.” Famine hissed. “They were perfectly fine with letting a bunch of shitty kids discorporate us while trying to stop our  _ one  _ purpose. Doesn’t sound like real ‘fathers of the year’ material to me.”

“It wasn’t their fault that the kids discorporated us.”

“They let it happen, Carmine! What don’t you get? They don’t care about us. I’m starting to think they never did.”

“Bite your fucking tongue!” War was ready to dive across the table and wring his neck. “Like it or not those are our dads, no matter what choice they made. They made us.”

“Well maybe I don’t want to deal with dads who’d choose to save the world instead of saving us.” 

Famine got up from the table and cleaned up his spot, not looking at War as she sent the mother of all glares his direction.

“Chalky, back me up here.” War nudged as she turned to look at Pollution, who only averted their eyes.

“Don’t pull me into this.” They said. “I barely know them.”

“Coward. Grim?” War asked as she turned to the dark hooded rider who sat with an empty plate. They simply shook their head, saying nothing. 

“You three- Ugh!” She groaned before storming off to her room, slamming her door for emphasis. It shook the pictures they had hung up on the wall.

Pollution got up from the table, appetite fully gone, and disposed of their meal the only way they should, by tossing it out the living room window onto the ground below. Famine let out a tired sigh as if that conversation aged him 1000 years.

“I don’t get why she’s so insistent.” Pollution said, leaning back against the wall. “You’d think she’d be ready to mount their heads on pikes instead of sending them glasses and bow ties.”

“Carmine’s a lot of things, Chalks. One of ‘em’s unpredictable. Another is stubborn.” Famine said. “This’ll pass.”

“Hope so..” They muttered.

————

War hadn’t left her room in three days. It’s not like she needed to eat or anything like that, but the fact that she hadn’t even gotten up was concerning to say the least. 

Pollution had taken to stalking by the door, trying to listen in and see if they could even hear her grumbling curses to herself like she always did when mad, but there was nothing. 

“ARE YOU GOING TO KNOCK OR STAND THERE, CHALKY?” Death’s voice made the youngest rider jump as they turned to see both Famine and Death standing behind them.

“Heyyy guys.” Pollution gave them a half-cheeky smile, as if being concerned for their friend was a bad thing.

“We’re just as worried as you, relax.” Famine said, putting a hand on their greasy shoulder. “But hovering outside her door isn’t gonna help.”

“Well what do we say?” They asked “‘I’m sorry our dads suck, let’s go get Wendy’s.’?”

“SHE DOES LIKE WENDYS.” Death nodded.

“Not the point.”

“We just gotta go in there and take the brunt of it. Once she calms down, we’ll work something out. We can help her pick out a gift from her or something.” Famine said as he knocked. “Carmine!”

No response.

“Carmine, look, about the other day, i’m sorry, ok? If it means so much to you we’ll get them a gift from you!” He said.

No response.

“Carmiiiine! Open the door, please!” Pollution whined as they went for the door knob. 

“SHE'S NOT THERE.”

Famine and Pollution turned to look at Death, their blue irises glistening. Death was as ineffable as life itself, but not quite in the same way as God. They were parallel yet complementary. Such standing gave them a limited omniscience. Think of it as half future sight and half surprise. 

“What did you see?” Both of them asked.

“SNUCK OUT THROUGH THE WINDOW. SHE'S IN LONDON.” Death said, trying to focus on what they just saw. “AT A HABERDASHERY, BY A VALENTINOS. POSSIBLY CRYING.”

“She’s buying a bow tie.” Pollution said.

“And a pair of sunglasses.” Famine nodded.

“WE CAN CATCH HER IF WE GO NOW.” Death said as they immediately went for the pile of helmets sitting by the front door. They were dark and silent, but they still had a heart in those old bones. They cared about War just as much as the others did.

“Let’s go. She always buys ugly bow ties.” Pollution said, following.

Famine said nothing, as he was pretty sure it was one of her bow ties that Aziraphale had been wearing after unfusing with that old witch.

———

War had climbed out from her sixth floor apartment through her bedroom window, down the fire escape, and went to her bike in the parking lot all within about two hours of her fellow riders trying to find her. In those two hours she had started crying about four times. 

War didn’t like crying. I don’t think any being particularly enjoyed it, but War  _ really  _ didn’t like crying. It happens, it’s a normal thing, but War thought she was too tough to cry. She was, well, War! Men lived in her, men died in her, but men also cried in her. She saw a lot of crying, all the time. Whenever she felt tears starting to come on, her natural response would be to punch the closest wall or large object until she felt better. She had punched the arms off the Venus de Milo. It was a strategy that worked really well for the small handful of times she had cried in 6,000 years. 

But, now, she was riding full speed on the back of her motorcycle, sobbing her eyes out, no things to punch in sight. Racing down the M25, swerving between cars that had been piled up for an hour, only helped hide her face as she wasn’t able to get her helmet without being spotted. It also caused a lot of people to get really pissed, and a few road-rage induced car accidents to happen. She only sped by, taking no time to appreciate it.

What was her plan? Well, if the others weren’t going to send a gift with their names on it too, she might as well hand delivery the damn things herself. First things first, she had to buy gifts.

The five Horsepeople had a silent tradition where every Father’s Day gift for Aziraphale was some type of print or pattern bow tie, while the gift for Crowley was a set of sunglasses, prescription of course. So, first stop was for a bow tie.

War parked her bike outside a small haberdashery in Soho. She wiped her eyes with her jacket sleeve and sniffled once, twice, three times before taking a deep breath. No more tears, she told herself. Just go in there and pick a damn bow tie. Something old-fashioned and stuffy. It’s what Aziraphale would like. She hoped he’d like to see her again.

She spent about 25 minutes perusing a wide selection of ties, staring at them while deep in thought, when she felt a familiar bony hand on her shoulder. She turned around to see Death, Pollution, and Famine standing there. Her eyes were just barely holding back tears.

“What do you three want?” She said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Thought you didn’t  _ want _ to celebrate some dumb human holiday anymore.”

“But you clearly do.” Famine said.

“We’re family. We’ll stand by your choices.” Pollution said. “That means helping you pick a stupid tie.”

“I'M SURE HE’D LIKE THAT TARTAN ONE.” Death said, pointing at the bow tie currently in War’s hand.

“I think so too..” War nodded slowly. “The glasses are always the easy choice. Valentino’s.” 

“I’m pretty sure I've sent the same pair as you guys for the last ten years.” Pollution chuckled. “Crowley has a type.” 

“Considering Aziraphale looks like a walking couch? I would think they both do.” Famine said. 

The four shared a laugh and the tension started to split. Famine let out one more sigh.

“I don’t know why they did what they did.” He said. “And to tell the truth, it hurt. Felt like shit.”

“But.. We gotta admit, did you ever think they’d fight each other?” War asked. The idea was unprecedented. Their dads, fighting? Like for real? Never. Even Death shook their head at that.

“Maybe it’s for the best.” Pollution said. “I mean, we’re all here still. Together. And they’re here too. We.. we might as well go see them.”

“That was my original idea, actually.” War said as she brushed her hair behind her ear. “I miss them. A lot. And, honestly I’m glad you made it because if you didn’t, I would’ve cried.”

“You? Cry?” Famine gaped dramatically. “Carmine Zuigiber? The Mighty War? Never.”

“Not without a punching bag close by.” Pollution chuckled. War’s eyes glinted as though the words connected just right in her head.

“YOU TWO MAY WANT TO RUN BEFORE THAT BECOMES YOUR NEW ROLE.” Death said as Famine and Pollution both took a gulp and a step back, their eyes meeting War’s wild grin. It was a signal that in all languages meant ‘I’ll give you a 10 second head start.’

———-

Four supernatural entities and two wrapped gifts made their way to a little angelic bookshop in Soho where they were welcomed with open arms and the familiar hugs of an ineffable pair of fathers. 

Their ineffable fathers. 

It sure was a nice way to spend Father’s Day.

**Author's Note:**

> If y’all wanna see more of my writing for the four horsepeople I recommend reading my oneshot series “Four Shall Ride as One (Oneshots)” I made Pollution use TikTok and I do not regret my decisions.


End file.
